


Christmas Lights

by draculard



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Joyce Byers Needs a Hug, Protective Nancy Wheeler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 18:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17965685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Nancy never meant for this to happen.





	Christmas Lights

Nancy never meant for this to happen.

It was dark out, and as she was leaving the general store, one hand on the freshly-stolen pack of Marlboros in her pocket, she saw the Missing Person flyer on the lamp-post. Will Byers stared at her from the poster, his eyes wide and dark. He didn’t look anything like Jonathan, not really, but there was an unmistakable resemblance to Joyce, and suddenly Nancy was frozen to the spot, her eyes boring into Will’s.

“You’ve seen him?” said a voice behind her. Nancy whipped around, her ponytail hitting her in the face as she turned. It took a moment for her heart to calm down, and even longer for her to recognize the frail, wild-looking woman before her.

“Mrs. Byers?” Nancy said, her voice little more than a whisper. Joyce looked over her shoulder, at the poster of Will.

“Have you seen him?” she asked again. Nancy bit her lip and stepped forward, her hands squeezing Joyce’s arms through her thin, worn coat.

“No,” Nancy said. Her eyes searched Joyce’s face. “Mrs. Byers, are you okay?”

Joyce barely seemed to see her. Coldness was radiating off her; she was shivering under Nancy’s touch. Hesitantly, Nancy stepped closer, until she and Joyce were nearly nose-to-nose.

“Come on,” Nancy said softly. “I’ll walk you home.”

* * *

Jonathan was away, and the Byers house was empty except for Nancy and Joyce. Nancy led Joyce to the sofa in the living room; she eyed the Christmas lights on the wall but said nothing. With gentle hands, she pushed Joyce down until she was nestled in the cushions, her back against the old blue afghan hanging on the couch.

She was so small, it looked like she was drowning in her coat. Nancy hesitated, arms crossed tightly. What exactly could she do with the protective instincts surging through her? Mrs. Byers was an adult, and Nancy had never been in a position to care for someone older than her. She didn’t know what to do.

She knew what she _wanted_ to do, though.

“Mrs. Byers?” Nancy said. Her voice sounded small and pathetic, even to her own ears. “Would you feel better if I…?”

She couldn’t get the words out. To say it aloud would be to unleash at least ten years’ worth of repressed thoughts and feelings, stuff she hasn’t dared say to anyone since she naively told her mom she wanted to marry Barb in first grade.

Nancy shifted uneasily from foot to foot. With nothing else to concentrate on, she turned her attention to Joyce’s clothes -- men’s clothes, maybe even borrowed from Jonathan. Old, faded jeans the color of a dirty sky, a flannel shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck. It was a total contrast with Nancy; her plaid skirt was in fashion, her coat bulky but cute. Everything she wore, she’d chosen herself, paid for it at the mall with her own money. In a way, she felt like an adult staring down at an under-fed, fashion-blind kid.

“Feel better if you what,” said Joyce flatly, and Nancy started. She’d almost forgotten Joyce could speak.

“Nevermind,” she said. “Just--”

She turned around, grasping desperately for something to distract Joyce, to distract herself.

“Can I … get you something to drink?” she said hesitantly, and the look Joyce gave her shattered any illusions Nancy might have had about being the adult in this situation. Nancy shuffled her feet again.

 _Aw, to hell with it_ , she thought. She stepped forward on her tiptoes; when Nancy was nervous, she found herself slipping into ballerina posture automatically, like practiced grace was some sort of defense against sweaty palms and a shaky voice. Skirting the coffee table, Nancy stood over Joyce.

The Christmas lights blinked, throwing Joyce’s face into shades of red, green, and blue. Nancy swallowed hard; her throat was dry.

“Would you feel better,” she said, “if I kissed you?”

The lights play over Joyce’s skin, blinding Nancy. Joyce tilts her chin up, eyes hooded, staring Nancy down.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she said.

  



End file.
